


Against Winding Roads

by somethingnerdythiswaycomes



Series: Isle of Flightless Birds [13]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst, Caretaking, Cuddle Puddles, D/s AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, Post-Loss, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/pseuds/somethingnerdythiswaycomes
Summary: “Nicky,” Alex says hollowly, stopping in front of his stall.“Alex,” Nicklas replies, reaching out and gently hooking his fingers in the front of Alex’s collar.





	Against Winding Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my caps post loss fic.
> 
> I do not represent the real people presented as characters in this fic, nor do I make any claims about what they do or do not do in their private lives.

“Nicky,” Alex says hollowly, stopping in front of his stall.

The room’s been deathly silent since the game ended.  No outbursts, no shouting or throwing things.  Just… silence.

“Alex,” Nicklas replies, reaching out and gently hooking his fingers in the front of Alex’s collar.  Alex shudders, his head dropping.

“I need—” he starts to choke out, and pauses.  “I need…”

“Not here,” Nicklas tells him, standing and leading Alex out of the room.  There’s a small room off to the side that the trainers use, sometimes, and the med staff, too, but it’s empty right now.  As soon as Nicklas turns on the lights and shuts the door, Alex drops to his knees.

“Alex,” Nicklas says, disapproving.

“It’s fine,” Alex replies.  He shifts a little, and Nicky knows it’s not.  He knows Alex’s knee has been hurting, even if Alex won’t tell him the extent of it – which means Nicklas knows that he wouldn’t allow Alex to play, if he knew.  “I – you have to.”

“No,” Nicklas says.  “I’m not punishing you for that.”

“Yes,” Alex demands, staring up at him.  “You have to.  That goal – that was – “

“It was the teams fault,” Nicklas states.  “One person can’t be responsible for a goal.  Should I drag Holts in here and punish him, too?”

“Of course not!” Alex snaps.

“Then why would I do it to you?” Nicklas asks, kneeling in front of him and cupping Alex’s face in his hands.  “I’m not punishing you for this, Alex.  You don’t deserve it, so I won’t.”

Alex breathes out, shuddering slightly.  Nicklas waits another moment, staring into his eyes, and then taps Alex’s hip.  “Off of your knee, now.”

Alex nods, and lets Nicklas pull him to his feet.  Nicklas doesn’t let go of him, just pulls him in closer and gets his fingers through the ring on the front of Alex’s collar again.

“You didn’t play your best,” Nicklas tells him, as honest as he knows Alex needs, “But you don’t deserve a punishment for that.”

Alex sighs softly, resting his forehead against Nicklas’s.  “Okay.”

“I’ll keep telling you, if you need it.”

Alex nods slightly.  “Thank you, Nicky.”

Nicklas manages a smile, then, a fleeting little thing, as much as he can muster at a time like this.  “Let’s get back to the team, yes?”

Alex nods again, rolling his shoulders and straightening up, putting on the mask he needs to show the rest of the team.  Nicklas grabs his hand and leads him back into the room.

 

.oOo.

 

Nicklas gets the call the next morning.

The team’s still all spread out in his and Alex’s living room, asleep or just now stirring.  Nicklas moving to grab his vibrating phone wakes Alex, who watches through slitted eyes as Nicklas steps into the hallway to accept the call.

They both knew what it would be.  Alex’s came in last night, when he had to choke out in the passenger seat of Nicklas’s car that he was injured, that he wouldn’t be able to play, and listen to the shouting coming through the other end of the phone.

Nicklas says yes, and goes back into the living room.

His team is looking, as a whole, a little more awake.  Braden is awake, and coaxing Andre out of sleep, too.  Tom and Taylor are sitting against the side of the couch, quietly sharing a granola bar.  He can see TJ stirring in his pile of defensemen, as John checks the marks on his thighs.

Alex is still spread out on the couch, but he lifts his head to meet Nicklas’s eyes when he gets close.

“You going?” Alex asks.

“We’re going,” Nicklas replies.  Alex nods, the suggestion of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Nicklas knows this isn’t how he wanted to go to Worlds, as a sub trailing after his Dom.  Nicklas knows it’ll be difficult for him to see everyone playing, to be near the Russian team, and not be playing himself.  But Alex was also the one that pushed for Nicklas to say yes, if, when, the Swedish national team called, and Alex was the one that said he would come with Nicklas.  He has to trust that Alex wasn’t saying that out of some sort of obligation, that he meant it, that he knew it was what would be best for the two of them.

Nicklas got this far by trusting Alex, and he doesn’t plan on stopping now.

“Told the team?” Alex asks, leaning into the hand Nicklas puts on his cheek.

“At breakfast.”

Which, it seems, will be closer to brunch, or lunch, given that it’s nearing 10 and only half of the team’s awake.

“Is there anyone not here?” Nicklas asks, glancing around the room.

Alex looks around as well.  “Beags.  Shatty.”

Jay pokes his head around the corner to the kitchen.  “Right here, sorry.”

Nicklas lets out a small sigh and double checks the rest of the team’s there, then carefully tugs Alex to his feet.  “Shower and change,” Nicklas tells him, brushing a few long strands of hair behind Alex’s ear.  Alex nods and heads for their bathroom, starting up the stairs slowly.  Andre’s there in a second, sliding an arm around Alex’s waist and helping him take the weight off of his knee.

“Thank you,” Nicklas murmurs to Braden, who shrugs.

“Breakfast here or out?” Nicklas asks the room at large.  There’s a few mutterings, but no one says anything definitive.  “Here, then.”

A couple of the guys look relieved.  Nicklas knows how that is; after a loss like this, it’s easier to just stay at home for a bit, get the worst of the disappointment out of the way where you won’t chance fans seeing you in dirty sweats and questioning you about the season.

As much as Tom and Andre, and Alex, have accused Nicklas of being a mother hen, he does try to tone it down when the entire team’s involved.  So he doesn’t order anyone to the showers, or hand out towels and new clothes.  He does, however, move the stack of clean towels from the sideboard to the couch, so everyone can grab what they need.

When he goes into the kitchen, Kevin’s sitting at the breakfast bar with Jay hovering next to him, a plate with two sandwiches in front of them.

“Sorry,” Jay says, shooting a guilty look at the fridge.  “We weren’t sure when everyone’d be awake.”

Nicklas waves him off.  “Don’t worry about it.  It’s all for the team right now.”

Kevin still looks a little worried, and Nicklas is too tired, stretched too thin, to puzzle out why.  Instead, he digs out the take-out menus he and Alex have stockpiled, searching for the one for their favorite diner, which doesn’t deliver but is good enough that picking it up is worth it.  He pulls out his phone and orders enough waffles, pancakes, eggs, toast, bacon, and sausage for the whole team.

“You don’t have to do all this for us,” Kevin says, once Nicklas has hung up the phone.

Nicklas considers that for a moment.  “I know I don’t have to.”

“We never did anything like this in St. Louis.  Everyone just went home and licked their own wounds.”

“I like it when my team is a team,” Nicklas says carefully.  “No one is required to come here, but I think having people around who understand, who can comfort you, helps in those first couple days.  I hope that other teams realize how important that can be, too.”

Kevin ducks his head, staring intently at his sandwich.  “Makes sense,” he murmurs, then grabs his sandwich and takes a bite.

Alex comes into the kitchen, then, hair starting to fluff up as it dries, in a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt.  He drapes himself over Nicklas’s back, letting Nicklas support his weight.

“Just ordered the food,” Nicklas tells him, letting Alex rest his head against his.  “Come with me to pick it up?”

“I can,” Jay offers.  Nicklas and Alex both look at him.  “Ovi should probably rest his knee, right?”

Alex seems to concede that.  “Beags the best,” he proclaims, smacking a kiss on Nicklas’s cheek and then wandering back to the living room.

 “We should leave soon,” Nicklas tells Jay, then heads upstairs to change into cleaner clothes.  He glances back as he leaves the kitchen, just in time to see Jay bending down to whisper something to Kevin.

 

.oOo.

 

It isn’t until they’re on the way back from the diner that Nicklas says, “So, Kevin,” and waits for Jay to speak.

“He’s doing good,” Jay replies.

“Hmm.”

“Do you think he’s not?”

“Not particularly.”

“He’s just not used to this,” Jay says.  “The whole – team supporting thing.  The team Dom thing.  It’s not how it was on the Blues.”

“But it’s good for him?” Nicklas checks.

“Yeah.”  Jay sighs softly, fiddling with the handles on the plastic bag in his lap.  “I think he likes it.  He still thinks it’s going to be, I don’t know, a front for something, but he likes it.”

Nicklas nods and carefully changes lanes.  “Are you going to be spending time with him over the summer?”

Jay huffs a laugh.  “Figured it out, huh?”

Nicklas smiles.  “Took me a bit.”

“We have some plans,” Jay answers vaguely, after a moment, and Nicklas lets him have that.  He knows, from those first couple of years with Alex, the uncertainty of the off-season, trying to make training plans and sponsorship deals and media appearances all work together with another person’s schedule.

They get back to Nicklas’s house not long after, managing between the two of them to carry in all the bags of food.

Everyone’s awake and mostly cleaned up when they make it into the living room, piling up the food on the coffee table while everyone passes around plates and utensils.

“Chocolate chip?” Andre asks hopefully, and Nicklas rolls his eyes fondly as he hands a labelled box to him.

As they all settle down with their food, Nicklas asks, “Who’s going to Worlds?”

Evgeny and Dmitry both grunt and bob their heads, too invested in the pile of waffles they managed to commandeer to give any other answer.  Philipp says, “Me, too,” after a moment, then takes another big bite of eggs.

“I am,” Nicky says, after no one else says anything.  “Alex is coming with me.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, before Evgeny turns to Alex in a flurry of Russian.  Everyone stays mostly quiet as the two talk, shoveling food into their mouths and gulping down the water and Gatorade still left from the night before.

“I’m not playing,” Alex tells the group at large, even though it’s obvious it’s mostly to Evgeny and Dmitry.  “I’m going to support Nicky.  Not good for him to be away from me for too long.  Ego gets too big.”

Nicklas rolls his eyes, but it gets the expected laughs.

“And everyone’s welcome at our house,” Braden adds, feeding a bit of chocolate chip pancake to Andre.  “We haven’t got as much space, but we can make room for anyone that wants to come by.”

Nicklas needs a way to thank Braden for this, for taking care of his team when he won’t be able to, and for taking care of Andre all this time.

 

.oOo.

 

The flight to France is uneventful, even with Alex trying to mold himself to Nicklas’s side through the armrest between their seats.

Their arrival at the hotel, unfortunately, is not.

“Alex!” Someone shouts across the lobby, striding towards them.  When he gets closer, Nicklas can see the Russian flag on his sweatshirt.  He says something else in Russian, and visibly deflates when Alex shakes his head.

“Not playing,” Alex says, in English for Nicklas’s benefit.

The man glances at Alex’s collar and the hold that Nicklas has on Alex’s wrist, and sneers.  “Knee too hurt to play, not too hurt to—” He makes a rude gesture, and Nicklas gets the gist.

“Excuse us,” Nicklas says frostily, pulling Alex to the check-in desk before he punches him in the face.  It wouldn’t do to start off this stint at worlds with a fight in the hotel lobby.

He gets them up to their room quickly, tossing their bags against the wall and then turning to Alex.  He has that drawn look on his face, the one he gets when a reporter asks him about a scoring slump or Nicklas won’t let him order dessert.

Nicklas cups his face, pulling him a bit closer.

“Alex,” he says softly, then again, until Alex meets his eyes.  “He doesn’t know anything about you.”

“You know how it looks,” Alex replies, looking away again.  “Like all the girlfriends people bring for touring.”

Nicklas sighs and rests his forehead against Alex’s.  “You didn’t need to come, if you were worried about this.”

“You need me,” Alex tells him, with all the sincerity as when he said it to the them, but without the punchline following it.

“I would’ve been okay.”

“No.”  Alex reaches up and grabs Nicklas’s wrists.  “You put in a lot during season, Nicky.  Summer is my time to take care of _you_.”

Nicklas closes his eyes.  “Okay,” he whispers. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m staying,” Alex says confidently.  “No idiots keeping me from you.”

Nicklas laughs, muffled by Alex’s lips when he kisses him.

“Besides,” Alex adds, guiding Nicklas towards the bed.  “We need to go to that bridge.  Love bridge.”

“The one with the locks?” Nicklas asks, dropping onto the bed next to Alex.

“Yes.”  Alex drapes himself over Nicklas, forcing him onto his back on the bed.  “We find after your practice tomorrow.”

“All right,” Nicklas agrees, petting Alex’s head gently.  Alex hums happily and settles against him.

Even with their playoff exit fresh in his mind, the sneer on that Russian player’s face even fresher, Nicklas isn’t sure when he was happier than he is right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Yesterday someone asked "are you over it yet" and I replied "over what" so I guess this is helping me cope
> 
> Come join me on tumblr @ somethingnerdythiswaycomes


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